


A Light Grown So Pale

by CrimsonMemory



Category: W.I.T.C.H.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonMemory/pseuds/CrimsonMemory
Summary: What if... Phobos had not stolen the throne? What if, in another universe, the evil Prince were not even evil but merely misunderstood?





	A Light Grown So Pale

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from 2016: "Write an AU where Prince Phobos is happy and fulfilled."
> 
> I strayed from the prompt by not being entirely happy, but Phobos will be less of a jerk.

"How can the light that burned so brightly  
"Suddenly burn so pale?"

\- Art Garfunkel, "Bright Eyes," _Fate For Breakfast_

As soon as the Queen's tremors had begun again, the Prince leaped to his feet and held one of her hands. This had been the fifth council in which her illness interfered with business; and this was the first time that it had occurred right at the start of the session.

Phobos threw his gaze at his attendant and cried, _"Cedric!"_

The serpentine shape-shifter slithered quickly to son and mother. Holding the Queen with the utmost care, Cedric slithered out of the chamber. The councilors gazed frantically at one another until the Prince calmed them. Then he said, "There is no point in conducting the meeting while she is sick."

Then his face reddened, and he snarled, "You have pushed her and _pushed her_ —the Light of Meridian! I tire of it!"

Phobos marched to the great doors, and before he departed, he declared, "If any of you need us, _don't bother_. You shall defer to Lord Cedric, but _let my family be_."

Some of the councilors snorted, while others began to pace febrilely.

The Prince needed to tend to his mother and his likely-distraught sister.

_"Philos!"_

The Prince sighed and stopped in his tracks. Only his sister, who had learned it from their mother, called him by that name. All others had called him "Phobos" for they had feared his power. They feared a male heir with his amount of magick, for such a thing was unimaginable in the recent annals of Metamoor's history. Even their father, before his death, had playfully teased the Prince and called him "Phobos"—but it had felt like no jest to the brooding then-adolescent.

Councilors, sages, and captains had learned to fear him since childhood. Only his cunning exceeded his abilities, and they dreaded the day when the Queen would die, with or without, a _proper_ heir—a female who had actually inherited her mother's Light, not whatever the Prince had.

But the Queen continued to respect her son. Even during his darkest moods, in _spite_ of them, she loved him, still. Though reared by traditionalists, Queen Weira had always been a tad _queer_ , tantalising the notion that a male could rule. _A male!_ No male had ruled Meridian since Escanor and his knights had earned the right, and that had only come about because of their extraordinarily heroic actions. Metamoor was a world ruled by females and would remain so.

But again, Queen Weira, touched in the head since birth, had tried to change that. In between treaties and trade agreements, warding off the descendants of the Kahedrin, and protecting the planet from a sorceress from another world, the Queen had campaigned to change the laws regarding inheritance.

"A ruler's capacity," she had argued, "to rule should not be contingent upon what is or is not between their thighs." (At which point, many in the room flushed, save a smirking Prince.) "If she—or _he_ —shows the prowess and the desire, let them rule. Let anyone who calls themselves 'my child' be given a fair chance."

Soon, though, all the land stood behind Queen Weira. After she had convinced her loving and loyal citizens, she had almost pressured her councilors and sages into changing the law.

Then Elyon had been born. The Queen began to have terrible tremors, mind-mangling headaches, and fainting spells where her breath would halt for minutes. Some of the nobility whispered that Phobos had been to blame, but his adviser, Lord Cedric, had begged to differ.

"It's definitely Elizabeth's Disease," he had said after days of research. "No poison. No curse. Merely Nature itself being cruel to its creation. The disease afflicts members of the royal family, and women are more vulnerable, especially mothers who have second or third children. And, of course, it is named after Queen Weira's great-great grandmother."

Phobos had heard of the disease, but he had never dreamed that it could afflict someone so close, both in blood and in time. He still found himself in denial, even after numerous doctors confirmed Cedric's suspicions. And Phobos certainly did not want to blame his sister for it.

"Oh, Philos! _Philos!_ " sobbed Elyon. "Mother—Mother has—"

"She's convulsing again," he said as he knelt to hug her. "I know, I know. But I want you to be a strong woman and not cry hard, alright? Mother's doctors need to concentrate, and we can visit her _only_ if we are calm and quiet."

Elyon sniffled and dabbed her nose with her sleeve. She whimpered, "But Philos, I'm scared this time."

Phobos frowned and kissed her brow.

"So am I, baby sister," he sighed. "So am I…"

* * *

The servants had shut the curtains to keep out the sunlight. The brighter Threbite lights were replaced with milder Kopallitli lamps, which emitted a gentle, saffron glow so that the physicians could see but without stimulating new tremors.

Elyon lay upon Cedric's coils, holding back her tears as he caressed her head. (The serpentine noble had always been a source of comfort for the Prince and the Princess.) Meanwhile, Phobos sat as close to his mother as permissible, waiting for the women to finish.

"She's fine now," said one. "The _nitziné_ venom extract has calmed her, but it will make her woozy and sleepy. Just leave the bandages be, so that her body receives the full treatment. We'll be back in six hours to check on her."

"Mmm…" Phobos had no capacity at the time to say 'Thank you' as the physicians departed. He stared at his mother, her eyes glazed with exhaustion.

"Hum, vum, vum, reh win…"

"What's that?" asked Phobos.

Weira heaved a sigh and coughed. She clarified (albeit with much slurring): "I want _ssssome_ red _vvvvine_."

Phobos glanced at an equally-puzzled Cedric. Drawing closer to his mother, he held one of her hands and said, "You can't have red wine right now, Mother. It could counteract with your medicine."

" _Pffbt!_ Your ffffather drinks wine when he's sick, an' look at how healthy he is!"

Clearing his throat, Phobos leaned closely and whispered, "Mother, Father died three years ago, remember? His… 'accident'?"

The Queen closed her eyes and exhaled deeply again.

"Hmm… shwa a detty ole privat anyway."

"What?"

"He was-sh a di'ty old perver-et anyway! Getting hantsy on _my_ son's snake-man!"

"Oh, Mother..." Phobos flushed.

"The doctors must have given her plenty of that extract," marked Cedric.

Crawling off Cedric's coils, Elyon joined her brother's side and wondered, "Mother? Please don't see things, Mother. I don't like it when the medicine makes you see things."

The Queen laughed and turned her head toward her daughter.

"No! No, my baby, Mummy is a little… light-headed. And light-headed people sssay many silly things in very ssshilly ways. I'll be right as rain for that meeting in an hour. Right, Philos?"

Her son smiled one-sidedly and brushed away his mother's sweat-soaked fringe. His heart ached to see his strong-willed bastion collapsing before his eyes. Surely, they had had their arguments, as parents and children do; but he could not afford to lose her—not yet, especially when that bigoted law was ready to be expunged. He could not afford to lose her because what would he do with Elyon? How would the poor girl cope with losing her mother, her ultimate female role model?

Mustering what good humour he could, Phobos replied, "If by 'an hour' you mean instead 'twenty-four hours'? I could possibly see that."

The Queen waved a weak, dismissive hand before exhaling again and falling slowly asleep.

"Is she dead?" wondered Elyon.

"No," he said. "No, Elyon, she just needs a bit of rest."

Then Cedric took up the Princess and took her to her room.

Meanwhile, little by little Phobos gave the Queen some of his energy, as he had become inclined to do when these attacks besieged her. The small donation always perked her up, speeding the rate of her recovery, and while it exhausted him, his fatigue was worth seeing his mother active again.

This time, though, she was not healing as fast. Morning after morning, he returned and gave her more of his energy until he himself began to feel ill. Then one morning she awoke long enough to hold a brief council in her chamber. She signed the Law of Weira, granting any capable member of the royal family to rule, regardless of their sex.

Two days later, the Queen passed.

* * *

According to the Law of Weira, effectively upon her signing, the crown belonged to Phobos by right of being the elder and more capable sibling. However, he felt no joy. His mother was gone—never to walk the gardens with him again or marvel at his floral creations; never to share red wine on cold winters night while she regaled him with her wit; never to hear her encouragement behind the backs of all whom besmirched him.

The Light had dimmed and been extinguished.

Phobos did not attend his own coronation, and he was sure that his mother's councilors did not mind. In his absence, Elyon accepted the crown, and he could hear the crowds roaring—louder and more jubilantly for her, surely, than if he had actually attended.

The castle held numerous festivities, and multiple parties wished that Elyon had been the one crowned their monarch. Cedric tired of their talk, and Elyon felt saddened by all the poor talk surrounding her brother. Therefore, she asked Lord Cedric to escort her to her brother's chamber: through the jubilant citizens, down the halls (some of which still bore ribbons from the previous days of mourning), right up to her brother's chamber door.

When he failed to answer, and no sign of him could be spotted inside, Cedric sniffed him out and tracked him to Weira's chamber, laying atop the bed.

"I brought you something," said Elyon. " _Two_ somethings, actually."

Then she joined him atop the bed and handed him a bottle of red wine—"Red wine from Mother's favourite vineyard," he noted.

"And this," said Elyon, and she removed the golden crown from atop her head and set it upon his.

"Long live the King," she said, joyous tears in her eyes.

Phobos smiled and hugged his sister.

"And long live the Queen."


End file.
